The Poem
by Morfiwien Greenleaf
Summary: Just how exactly did Harold Hill and Marian Paroo start the tradition of sending each other clandestine poems? It all began on the eve of their one-month anniversary of courting...


_Ah, Marian! what have you done?  
All this ecstasy of bliss,  
All this throbbing passion won  
From one single kiss!  
Lingering kisses never cloy  
On the loving lips we press,  
But, perhaps, the foretaste e'en of joy  
Is love's greatest happiness;  
And e'en the remembrance, Sweet,  
Of this first kiss, always will  
Make your bosom flush and beat,  
Till your heart be cold and still.  
Now your lover scarce believes  
That 'tis his love inspires you:  
Better to give than to receive,  
So he joys in the love that fires you._

Marian sighed wistfully as she leafed through _Oeuvres de Parny: élégies et poésies diverses_, which Tommy Djilas had left lying on the front desk. Earlier, he had checked out several books written in French – Zaneeta Shinn had recently fallen in love with the language and, perhaps unsurprisingly, Tommy soon after developed a similar zeal to learn it. But as Marian was stamping the last of the teen's books, Zaneeta walked into the library and, in his haste to join her, Tommy had accidentally left de Parny behind.

In a rare moment of leisure, Marian had allowed herself the indulgence of rereading her favorite de Parny poems. And, as happened often since a certain music professor had decided to stay in River City, the librarian lost herself in sentimental fancies. Since Marian had fallen in love, she had developed the rather foolish tendency of imagining herself as the heroine and Harold as the hero in her favorite tales – and de Parny's romantic poetry was no exception. Of course, in Marian's daydreams, Harold recited _Le Baiser_ to her in perfect French, though in reality, he could barely say "bonjour" without tripping over his own tongue.

"Good evening, Madam Librarian," said a low, familiar voice next to her ear.

Marian jumped. "Harold – was it really necessary to sneak up on me like that?" she admonished, trying to catch her breath.

Harold grinned. "That wasn't my intention. You were simply so engrossed in your book that you didn't hear me approach."

"Hmm," Marian said skeptically. Placing a ribbon in the book so as not to lose her place, the librarian eyed the clock on the wall. Upon discovering it was nearly eight, she gasped.

"What's the matter?" Harold asked.

"It's almost time to close – and I've spent nearly the entire hour reading!" she said ruefully, grabbing an armful of books off the cart behind her. "What was I thinking?"

"People do generally read in libraries, my dear," Harold replied, his eyes twinkling with mischief.

As she left the main area, Marian gave him a sly glance over her shoulder. "Except when they dance, of course."

Harold followed the librarian into the drama section. "You'll never forgive me for that, will you?" he asked, chuckling.

"Oh, the dancing was nothing," she said airily as she began to reshelve her books. "It's the kiss I'll never forgive."

At this brazen remark, Harold took her by the arm and turned her to face him. Expecting him to fire back another flirtatious retort, Marian met his gaze with a defiant smirk. But her sense of levity faded when she saw an uncharacteristic seriousness in his eyes. Before she could apologize for her impudence – really, what had possessed her to say such outrageous things? – Harold wrapped his arms around her waist and met her mouth with his.

Instead of rebuffing Harold's advances – after all, this was hardly the time or the place for such behavior – Marian found herself responding enthusiastically to his embrace. In the month since he settled in River City, Harold's manner had become surprisingly restrained when he was in her company; although they had visited the footbridge several times, the kisses they shared were not as ardent as those they had engaged in during their initial, heady rendezvous at that romantic spot.

Marian hadn't been surprised by this turn of events – she naturally assumed Harold would explore this new territory with caution. In return, she had taken extreme care to refrain from being too effusive, herself; it wouldn't do to make him feel fenced in. And things had been going wonderfully – not only was their friendship slowly deepening, their work at the music emporium was coming along nicely. The refinements to the Think System had proved extremely effective; as each day passed, it seemed more and more certain that the parade scheduled for the end of August would firmly cement Harold's credentials as a legitimate music professor.

But as Harold kissed her with the same passionate urgency as he had that warm July night, Marian realized just how much she had missed him holding her like this. When he tightened his arms around her and pulled her even closer, she was thrilled and terrified by the sudden maelstrom of emotion that swirled in the pit of her stomach and coursed through her body.

Still, Marian couldn't forget what they were doing was dangerous – suppose someone should walk in the library and see them, and at such a late hour? Before they could get too carried away, she ended their kiss, slipped out of Harold's arms and went back to shelving books, as if this passionate interruption to their lighthearted banter had been little more than a trifling amusement. "What is it about libraries that brings out the mischief in you?" she teased.

"Well, it is the eve of our one-month anniversary," Harold replied with a smile – though Marian couldn't help noticing his mirth didn't quite reach his eyes.

She raised an eyebrow at him. "Is that why you came into the library, instead of waiting outside, as you normally do?"

"Actually, I wanted to check out the biography of Mozart that you mentioned earlier," Harold said earnestly. "And you mentioned you might have a few useful books about music theory?"

Marian immediately reverted to the business-like demeanor she always adopted when they discussed emporium matters. "Yes, of course – once I finish putting away the rest of these volumes, I'll get those books for you."

After giving her a cordial nod of gratitude, Harold departed to the main section of the library and took a seat on the bench nearest to the front desk. But as Marian bustled around the library, setting things to rights, she could feel his amorous eyes following her wherever she went. That alarming sensation bubbled up in the pit of her stomach again, but this time, she welcomed it; Harold made her feel lovely and beautiful and beloved, and it was wonderful.

By the time Marian returned to the front desk with Harold's books, she was so befuddled and dreamy-eyed that he could have asked her to go to the moon, and she would have consented. But he merely grinned at her as she stamped each book and handed it to him. Once the desk was empty, he politely asked her to allow him the pleasure of escorting her home.

At about three o'clock on the morning of August twenty-third, Marian suddenly came to a realization that made her awaken in a cold sweat: She had never gotten around to reshelving the de Parny book of poems.

XXX

As soon as morning arrived in earnest, Marian hastened to the library. When she saw the empty front desk, her worst fears were confirmed. Still, the librarian went to check the section containing de Parny's works, fervently hoping she was mistaken and that she had returned the volume to its proper place, after all.

But there was an empty spot on the shelf where the _Oeuvres de Parny: élégies et poésies diverses_ should have been. With a sigh, Marian went back to her usual post at the front desk. Perhaps Harold would take one look at what language the book was written in, and set it aside. And even if he did peruse the volume, he might not notice what poem was bookmarked…

_Since when does Professor Hill fail to notice anything – especially about you?_ her mind derisively pointed out. _And even if he doesn't speak French, Tommy or one of his other students know enough to translate for him…_

With a groan, Marian buried her head in her hands. Even though she hadn't meant to give Harold that book of poetry, the fact remained that she did imagine him whispering those words into her ear. Really, she was no better than those foolish girls whom she had caught giggling over Casanova's exploits several weeks ago.

And if her ardor didn't give Harold pause, what would a man as passionate as he expect of her in the future? Marian's heart gave a queer little flip-flop at the startling idea he might actually welcome such bold overtures, and she immediately dismissed such a ridiculous notion. She had been so careful to conduct herself with the proper decorum around Harold, balancing her affection with an equal amount of reserve so she wouldn't frighten him away – and now he was about to discover just how lovesick she truly was.

XXX

On the night of August twenty-second, Harold did not give Marian another kiss when he took his leave of her on her front porch, as he figured the heated embrace they had shared in the library was enough for one evening. But now, as he held the volume of de Parny's poetry in his hand, he regretted the lost opportunity.

Early the next morning, Harold had decided to peruse the books the librarian gave him, before his first students arrived for their lessons. When he had spotted the _Oeuvres de Parny: élégies et poésies diverses_ amidst the pile, his curiosity was immediately piqued. Why would Marian give him a book in French, especially considering she was well aware of his tenuous grasp of the language?

Perhaps it was because she was also aware – as was he – that de Parny was known for his love poetry. Marian was a clever woman and, Harold reflected with a growing sense of excitement, this might just be her furtive way of honoring their first anniversary. And true to form, she wasn't surrendering herself too easily.

Intrigued, Harold opened the book to search for additional clues – and quickly discovered the ribbon marking page 251. When he saw the heading, _Le Baiser_, his eyes widened, and he eagerly scanned the lines below the title. Even though his French left a lot to be desired, Harold knew enough of the language to grasp the poem's meaning.

For a moment, all he could do was gape at the book in his hand. After Marian's rather cool dismissal of the passionate kiss they had shared the evening before, he never imagined she would send him something like this. In fact, he had been harboring the unpleasant suspicion her ardor was beginning to wane, now that the excitement of July twenty-third had faded and life had settled back into a more ordinary pattern. Harold knew from past experience it was easy enough to profess one's love when one believed one didn't have a future with the object of one's affections – perhaps now that Marian had time to think about things, she was beginning to realize her feelings for him were nothing more than a passing infatuation.

Apparently, that wasn't the case at all. For it seemed his dear little librarian's love for him went a lot deeper than she was letting on – an idea that cheered him immensely and gave him a renewed sense of vigor. As he had struggled with restraint himself these past few weeks, Harold could understand why Marian felt the need to curb her ardor. And he would honor her wishes in the matter.

Of course, he couldn't let her poem go unanswered. There was only one proper way to respond to such declarations and, as Harold contemplated his planned course of action, his eyes twinkled with merriment.

XXX

Somehow, Marian managed to make it through the agonizingly long hours that followed her unsettling discovery – though her nervousness increased as eight o'clock drew near. She hadn't seen Harold at all today, and wasn't sure if she should be relieved or worried by this. But she supposed closing time would prove revealing – since he had settled in River City, Harold never missed the opportunity to escort her home at night.

Sure enough, Harold was waiting for her outside when she exited Madison Public Library. As she locked the doors, Marian surreptitiously observed her beau out of the corner of her eye. There was no dark cloud hanging over his brow – in fact, he seemed to regard her with even more fondness than usual and, as they set off for West Elm, he walked with an extra spring in his step.

But even though Marian put up a cheerful façade, she couldn't relax in his company. She tried to take comfort in the fact that Harold was in as merry a mood as ever, but curiosity as to whether or not he had read the poem burned too strongly within her; she simply couldn't muzzle her uneasiness. And when Harold ushered her past West Elm, her stomach flip-flopped unpleasantly.

Still, Marian was determined to pretend nothing was amiss. "We missed the turn," she casually observed.

"We're not going to your house, darling," Harold said with a wink. "Remember, it is our anniversary… "

Marian gasped – how silly of her to forget! Certainly, that phenomenon would explain his merry mood and the extra spring in his step. So she gave him a genuine smile and let him lead her along without protest – though her insides still churned with apprehension.

XXX

As soon as Harold had gotten Marian to the footbridge, he took her in his arms and planted a searing kiss on her lips. Usually, he wasn't so abrupt, but he had been waiting all day for this moment. And it had been a long day for him.

When he finally let go of Marian, she gazed at him with a dazed expression. "What brought that on?"

Harold grinned. "As if you didn't know, my dear little librarian," he admonished, wagging a finger at her.

"Our anniversary?" Marian still sounded perplexed, but there was a suspicious flash of understanding in her eyes – obviously, she was waiting for him to broach the subject.

So Harold shook his head and replied, "I could think of no more eloquent response to the poem you sent."

Harold thought Marian might give him a blushing smile – as much as he would have welcomed it, he didn't think she would be so forward as to return his kiss – but to his surprise, she looked crestfallen. "So you did read the de Parny volume."

Now it was Harold's turn to be perplexed. "Why shouldn't I have read it? After all, you did include it in the books you gave me last night."

"I know," Marian said sheepishly. "It was a mistake on my part."

Harold's mouth suddenly felt dry. He swallowed, but it didn't help much. "A mistake?" he managed to say.

She turned away from his searching gaze. "Yes – I'm sorry for any consternation I might have caused you."

"Consternation?" Harold asked, incredulous. Taking Marian's hands in his, he gently kissed the tips of her fingers. "Darling, I was flattered! How could you think I would be anything but elated to receive such an eloquent declaration of your affection? I'm only sorry my French was too poor for me to frame a suitable reply. I suppose I could have sent de Parny back with a simple 'je t'aime, ma chérie,' but it didn't seem like enough."

Marian continued to surprise him with her strange reactions; instead of being reassured, she looked downright stricken. "Oh," she breathed, sounding close to tears.

Harold forced a lighthearted laugh. "Well, what's the matter now?" he asked with tender concern.

"If I had known, I never would have… " She trailed off as their eyes met, and let out a sigh. "I'm sorry I doubted you, Harold. Time and again, you've proved your devotion. When am I going to believe it, once and for all?"

"Given my former occupation, it's quite natural you would need to be regularly reassured of my devotion," he said understandingly. "I'm more than willing to prove myself to you as often as you require – especially since you've demonstrated the true depth of your feelings for me."

The regret in her expression deepened. "Harold… I have to tell you the truth. Tommy Djilas accidentally left the de Parny volume behind when he checked out several books yesterday. That was the volume I was reading when you came into the library, and I forgot to reshelve it with the others." Her voice quavered. "When I gave you your books, I accidentally included de Parny. It wasn't the grand, romantic gesture you're imagining – just a careless mistake on my part."

When Marian averted her eyes, Harold felt an alarming pang of distress. Out of respect for Marian's innocence, he dared not hold her too close, nor kiss her too deeply, nor even be alone with her for too long. After weeks of watching Marian revert from the boldly declarative woman to the meek blushing rose, it had brought him immense joy to see concrete evidence that she longed for him with as much intensity as he desired her. But apparently, it had all been a misunderstanding.

Still, even though he didn't doubt Marian's sincerity as she related her tale, Harold believed she did harbor those passionate feelings – even if she couldn't admit this to him. If she hadn't felt that way, her response to his kiss the night before wouldn't have been nearly as fervent. This made Marian's attempt to dismiss her sentiments as an unfortunate mistake all the more galling; until he established himself as a legitimate businessman and bought a proper home, the only way they could love each other without restraint was through words. Without words, Harold would have nothing. And he needed something. Though he was a confident man by nature, he treasured the occasional reassurance that Marian's feelings for him remained as strong as they were on the night of July twenty-third.

"Marian, I would be heartbroken if you regretted giving me that poem," Harold said earnestly. When she didn't respond, he placed two fingers under her chin and gently lifted her bowed head. "I know it was unintentional, but please don't tell me it was a mistake," he softly entreated.

Their eyes met, and he saw Marian was also struggling with her emotions. "It wasn't, Harold," she said in a low voice. "I _do_ feel that way about you."

Without another word, Harold pulled her into his arms. Though he was the one to initiate their embrace, Marian kissed him just as eagerly and unabashedly as he kissed her. Before, her kisses had been those of a maiden's: shy, retiring, uncertain. And if Harold had been enchanted by her touch then – to his awe and delight, he was constantly discovering there was precious little about Marian he did not find alluring – he was enthralled by it now. She was utterly bewitching when she kissed him with a woman's confidence; spellbound, Harold tightened his arms around Marian's waist and surrendered to her charms.

After allowing himself a few moments of sweet, unfettered bliss, Harold normally would have ended their embrace and escorted Marian home. Considering her heartfelt admission, such a course of action probably would have been prudent. But even though the ever-present longing for Marian still remained, Harold also felt a pleasant sense of satisfaction. So when their lips finally parted, he continued to hold her close – and his sense of delighted contentment increased even further when Marian let out a happy sigh and nestled into his arms.

Secure in the knowledge that he had indeed found a woman whose passion matched his own, Harold could bear waiting for Marian for the time being – just as she patiently waited for him.

XXX

_A/N – I have not abandoned Remembering Paris; I'm simply taking a little fluff break while I recover from a cold as well as a hellaciously busy month at work. Now, back to the regularly scheduled programming!_


End file.
